Order 66: Chances
by Toft
Summary: SEQUEL to RC: Burdens. Who will live and who will die when the final order of the Clone Wars is issued? Sigma squad will have to face lightsabers and Jedi Master Amrun and her Padawan must flee from their trusted clone troopers.
1. Chapter 1

This is a sequel to my story Republic Commando: Burdens. I highly advise that you read it first! It's about the Clone Wars. You'll love it.

**ORDER 66: CHANCES**

_**I**_

**Arca Company Barracks, Coruscant**

Jatne imagined he could feel the rays of the lights of Coruscant's vast cityscape, though they were hundreds of meters above him and he was standing in his armor. Sprocket and Morj stood on either side of him, and there was a message from Gev blinking on his heads-up display almost as if the squad hadn't been separated.

"General Tur-Maken told me that these five troopers 'exemplified excellence' during the Coruscant invasion," Morj said in a private channel. "These troopers are from General Ves'len's Legion."

"'Exemplified excellence,'" Sprocket repeated with a snort. "It's almost poetic."

Jatne shifted his weight slightly. They received a transmission from General Tur-Maken telling them that they would be choosing their fourth squad member. Resources were short and these troopers from the Legion of Amiel's old friend were going to be trained "on the job" by the rest of the squad. Jatne didn't like that at all, especially with the squad's casualty record.

"All right, what do we think?" Jatne asked. The troopers were standing with their helmets on their hips and trying to keep straight faces, but the uncertainty in their eyes was apparent.

"The one on the far left looks promising," Morj said.

"Second from the right has crazy eyes and I don't like his hair," said Sprocket.

Jatne couldn't tell if the troopers were growing in nervousness or annoyance. One seemed to relax slightly and the inkling of a grimace twitched in his eyebrow, and another wouldn't unclench his fist.

"So, Far Left, then?" Jatne asked.

"Check him out," Morj said with the slightest nod of his head.

"Trooper, what's your name?" Jatne asked Far Left on the audio feed.

"Splinter."

"I think I like his sideburns," said Sprocket.

"Any specialties?" Jatne asked.

"Not getting killed."

Morj turned his head toward Jatne so Splinter knew he was saying something. "Sounds like something we need."

"Are you a fast learner, Splinter? You're going to have to keep up if you want your luck to hold," Jatne said.

"I'll do what I have to."

The other troopers were looking at Splinter with raised brows.

"He's a lump on a rock," Sprocket grumbled.

"We're taking him. All these troopers are the same," Morj said.

"Way to be a jerk, Morj!" Sprocket said.

"Welcome aboard, Splinter," said Jatne, holding his hand out to the trooper.

**Battle of Garqi**, **Outer Rim**

Signe strode across the Republic campgrounds to the area of discontent, which appeared to be around the mess. Clones were yelling and threatening with their rifles a small group of raggedy refugees of many races. The refugees were trying to sift through the waste containers and hovering around the back where the kitchen was located.

"Get out of here! Scram!" the clones shouted.

"What are you doing?" Signe asked the troopers, her hands balled into fists.

"Those refugees are trying to steal our food, General!" one of the troopers said as they all saluted her.

Signe's brow lowered as she watched the group of refugees flee and huddle amongst the foliage, monitoring the camp with wide hungry eyes. There were only four of them.

"Do we have nothing to spare?" Signe asked.

One of the troopers kicked the toe of his boot against the ground. "No, ma'am. There's barely enough to feed us. Supplies haven't been able to get through."

Signe gritted her teeth. So the Republic could throw more troops on the ground to win the battle, but it couldn't bother to supply it? "_We_ have enough, then," she clarified.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I can feed them." Signe started walking away from the troopers and toward the refugees, unclear in her head whether she was feeding them out of compassion or practicality. Hungry people were unpredictably desperate and the last thing she needed for her men were some refugees getting reckless and doing something to the camp. "Hello? Excuse me!" Signe called out to the refugees. She almost forgot to reach out in the Force to them and recognize their intentions. Yes, they were simply hungry. Not Separatist spies with backpacks of explosives.

"You Jedi General?" one of the refugees called back in broken Basic.

"Yes," Signe responded. She opened some belt compartments and took out three nutrient bars. She debated splitting two between the four of them, but they already saw that she had three. She offered her hand. "Take them. It's two day's worth--to keep you going."

One of the refugees, a Duros in a tattered jumpsuit, stepped out of the foliage and took them from her. He said something in a language Signe didn't understand, so she simply nodded to him and watched as he went back to his friends. They disappeared into the forest.

When Signe turned around, she saw Commander Law waiting for her where the other troopers had been standing. He offered her half of his nutrient bar. She shook her head at him.

"But, General, you need the energy."

"You need it, Law. I have mystical ways of maintaining my metabolism." Smiling, she closed his fist around the bar with her hand, patted his fingers, and walked away.

Commander Law hesitated before putting the nutrient bar back in a pouch. Orders were orders.

**HoloNet News and Entertainment HQ, Coruscant**

A transmission beeped on Captain Harsh's com. The red-painted ARC Trooper turned his back on his Jedi partner as he sat at a console re-submitting lost data and checking the archives for damage. "Harsh, I'm on a roll. Take it outside please?"

"Of course." Harsh left the room in two long strides and stood outside of the open doorway to answer the transmission. A blue hologram of a hooded figure appeared.

"Execute Order 66," Chancellor Palpatine said.

"Yep," said Harsh, turning off his com. He put it back on his belt. He let his arms drop to his sides.

Turning around, Harsh walked into the room and took in everything. Jedi Knight Avan Kaden had his back to the door and he was checking his datapad and a console against the wall. Harsh strode up behind him and didn't wait. He grabbed the back of the Jedi's head and slammed it into the wall before throwing him down on the floor. The ARC Trooper took out his pistol, aimed, and fired.

_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Coruscant Airspace, Core**

"_Yeah, so... I'm stuck on Coruscant and it looks like I'm going to lose some of my troopers to SpecOps. They need commandos. I'm sad to lose them--the ones that were chosen for selection were the best of the best. Really good men. And what worries is that none of them are going to have formal training--it's all 'on the job.' I wouldn't let them take Zero. He's with me whether he likes it or not._" The recorded hologram of Clayne Ves'len laughed, and his grown out hair flopped in his face. He pushed it out of the way and his expression grew somber. "_The battle here was severe. A lot of civilian casualties and structural damage. When I rushed here to help in the defense, I ended up leaving my transport ship on the _Nonmalef._ Look after it, won't you, Amiel? I'll talk to you soon. Stay safe._" Clayne smiled and the hologram disappeared.

Amiel let out a sigh and closed her comlink. Keeping up with Sigma squad and Lyda and Clayne and Sennia was almost as tiring as gallivanting across the galaxy with thousands of clone troopers. But she was glad that she was talking to Clayne more often, even if all they did was exchange recorded messages. Seeing his smile made her feel relaxed--at peace. Maybe it was because Clayne was known for his reliance on meditation to make it through the day.

Walking into the 'fresher, Amiel looked at herself in the mirror and smoothed down her hair. Clayne remarked one time when she didn't have time to braid it that he thought it looked "nice." So she hadn't been braiding it lately. Satisfied that it looked okay, Amiel went back to the room and turned on her comlink to start a recording.

"Hi, Clayne! I'm still here on the _Nonmalef_. I don't think there's been a decision where to deploy us. Master Amrun is on Garqi and I thought we would be going there, too, but the Regiment and I have been waiting on orders for a while. I don't even know if we're that far from Coruscant yet. I wish I could come visit you." Amiel paused and scratched the end of her nose. "Anyway, I--"

There was a loud pounding on the door.

"Oh, _fierfek_," Amiel said as she fumbled to turn off her com. "Hold on!" she shouted to whoever was waiting at the door. Something in her gut felt wrong, like an insect was crawling up her back.

When she opened the door, she found herself looking up the barrel of two pistols. There was a clank, and suddenly the clone commander that had been standing in front of her was reeling to the side. A second commander tackled him to the ground. Amiel stared in shock as Naro pinned Slon down.

"What are you doing?" Slon yelled.

"What are _you_ doing?" Naro snapped.

"What's going on?" Amiel asked, distraught.

"Stay inside, Commander!" Naro instructed. "Slon, you're an idiot!"

Slon gave up on getting Naro off. "It was the Chancellor's order!"

"What?" Amiel asked.

"Has the Chancellor had the commander's calls screened for the past three months? No! _I_ have, and it's all boys and clones! No 'acting against the Republic!' Commander!" Naro turned his helmet toward her. "Get inside and lock the door and don't let anybody come in!"

Amiel started shaking as Slon tried to grab for one of his pistols that had been scattered across the corridor. Naro tugged Slon's helmet off and punched him in the nose before his brother could get a hold of a pistol.

"Ow!" Slon yelled, swearing at Naro. "I was just picking it up!"

"Now, Commander! Get in there!"

Amiel turned and shut the door. She could feel it, now, deep in her chest. It was as if she was drowning--a burning sensation. Her head was starting to ache. She tried to focus, clear her mind--then her com rang. It was Naro. She answered it.

"Listen very carefully," he said. "I'm going to play this by ear."


	2. Chapter 2

_**II**_

_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Coruscant Airspace, Core**

Amiel heard blaster shots from somewhere up the hall, and the delayed echo of them from Naro's com outside her door. She stiffened and wondered how many of her friends lacked a kind commander like Naro.

"I'm going to take you through the ventilation shafts. I guess," Naro said. "But someone might hear your com if I try to contact you. Open the door."

Amiel saw her hand shake as she lifted it to the control panel to open the door. Naro tossed her something and she caught it. It was a helmet--Slon's helmet. She closed the door again.

"Hey!" Slon protested, obviously too late.

"Put it on," Naro instructed.

The heads-up display in Slon's helmet was blinking with dozens of different icons and other readouts that were starting to make her feel even more nauseous than she already was. "One sec," Naro said, this time within Slon's helmet. She started seeing the more distracting icons disappear. There was a circle in the bottom left corner that appeared to be tracking life forms, as there were two in the twelve o'clock range where Naro and Slon were standing outside the door.

"Okay, I've hooked up your com with Slon's com in case someone needs to contact you, and I've tried to make the HUD a little less trippy."

"Naro--"

"Thank me later, Midget." She heard Naro let out a breath. "Leave your lightsaber and your cloak. Slon and I are going to make a crime scene."

**HoloNet News and Entertainment HQ, Coruscant**

Something trickled down the side of Jedi Knight Avan Kaden's face. He sucked in a breath and the air was cold. He touched his fingers to the side of the face and saw blood on his glove.

"You're dead, Commander," Captain Harsh said. He held out his hand. "Let's go."

Kaden's heart had not slowed down. The smoke curled in the air from the burnt blaster bolt to the ground, inches away from his head. He stared at Harsh's hand and couldn't move.

"We don't have a lot of time. The Chancellor just ordered the execution of all Jedi Commanders. I turned in a report saying you're dead. Let's go before they find out otherwise."

Reaching up, Kaden took Harsh's hand and the clone lifted him to his feet. The Jedi's nose was bleeding and he had a near-blinding pain in his head. Kaden pinched his nose with the sleeve of his cloak and glared at Harsh. "Why did you have to slam my head into the wall?"

"To see if I could."

Kaden scoffed and Harsh picked up the Jedi's datapad. The clone had approached him with no sense of malice, no indication of violence. Kaden wondered if Harsh could have emanated the same feeling had he really decided to kill him.

Captain Harsh led the way, pistols drawn, toward their transport ship that was parked on a landing pad nearby. Harsh threw Kaden's hood over the Jedi's head as they walked onto the entrance ramp to the ship, then they both settled into the cockpit. Kaden was wide-eyed.

"Commander, I'm going to set some coordinates, then I'm going to start wiping the ship of anything that has to do with the Republic."

"Harsh?"

Kaden reached out and took one of Harsh's hands in his. "I don't know how to thank you."

Harsh nodded and turned his helmet away from the Jedi. He withdrew his hand. "How long does it take a dead man to grow a beard?"

**Command Deck of the **_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Coruscant Airspace, Core**

Gev wheeled himself to the three steps that led out of the console pit of the command deck. "When are they gonna put a ramp here?" he yelled, followed by a string of curses. "I need to go to the 'fresher!"

The command deck was in a frenzy. The Jedi commander had run out followed by several gun-toting clones. There was so much movement amongst the other clones that they might as well have been engaged in battle with another ship, but instead the crew was fighting with itself.

Someone grabbed onto the handles of his wheelchair, tipped him backwards, and shoved him up the tiny staircase. Gev looked over his shoulder and grinned at the mongrel officer. He had once nearly sent Sigma into a mission without the proper intel, but Gev had determined he wasn't so bad. "Thanks, Reno."

"I'll keep requesting the ramp for you, Gev," Reno replied with a chuckle as he went back to his post.

"Try legs instead!" Gev shouted over his shoulder. He wheeled himself off of the deck and straight to the 'fresher, swearing under his breath like an old man the entire way. When he got in the 'fresher, he found a stall and shut the door behind him. He held the com close to his face and wished he still had a helmet.

"Hello?" came a girl's voice from the other end.

Gev felt his gut relax. "_Viin'ika_! It's Gev!"

"Gev!" Amiel responded at a whisper. "Why are you calling me? Are you okay?"

"Don't be an idiot! Are _you_ okay?"

"I've got Slon's helmet and I'm crawling up a ventilation shaft. But I'm okay."

"Thank _Manda_. They didn't kill you?"

"No."

"Good. This escape plan I've got won't go to waste."

**Battle of Garqi**, **Outer Rim**

Commander Law sauntered into the tent from the 'fresher, stone-like as always. Signe was sitting on the ground shuffling a deck of sabacc cards, eager to see if Law could best her in the game. He sat down with enough room for the cards between them, crossing his legs. He shed his helmet and ran his hand over his crew cut.

Signe began dealing the cards and found it hard to conceal a smile. "I've always wanted to play sabacc with you, Law. I have a feeling you'll be one of my toughest opponents."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. My Master and a commando named Morj are the only two people who have beaten me."

"Are you certain that is because of your skill, or the nature of your opponents?"

Signe chuckled. Most of the clones hadn't gotten as much practice as her. "You have a point."

"I'll have you know, I've played plenty of sabacc in my time."

"Have you? I would have guessed you had better things to do."

Law cracked a smile. "I uploaded a sabacc game to my datapad. I've been playing it for some months now."

"Well!" Signe said with a shake of her head. She finished dealing the cards. "This will be quite a challenge."

There was an uncertainty about Law's movements as they played. Signe tried to control the urge to probe into his mind to see what was bothering him, as it didn't seem related to the game. Still, she didn't want to unintentionally give herself an advantage, so she refrained. Midway through, Law suddenly asked, "What was Oni like?"

Signe didn't blink at the question. Oni had never left her memory since the day she lost him. He was encapsulated eternally in the nooks of her memories, cherished and unforgotten. She kept her eyes on her cards. "He was a hard worker. You couldn't meet a clone with a better list of priorities. He was dedicated to his brothers. Who in this war isn't, right?" Signe glanced at Law briefly. "And yet it never comes as a surprise, nor is it ever less admirable--the love you have for your fellow soldier."

Law set down his cards as he listened. "And what about you, General?"

"Irresponsibility. My fault." Signe picked at the dirt under one of her nails as a frown crept across her face. "I took his attention away from his squad. I stole a little of his devotion and focus because I loved him, and I wanted him to know a different kind of love."

A long breath escaped Law's lungs. "He died happier than most of his brothers, General."

Smiling, Signe fiddled with a strand of her hair and couldn't form a response. She felt his eyes on her, softening as they rarely did, and for a brief moment, she thought she could have been in love with the clone commander.

The next sound that reached Signe's ears was the clicking safety of Law's sidearm, which Signe found to be aimed at her head. She went rigid.

"General Amrun, I have orders. Orders that tell me you and your kind are no longer fit to lead the GAR."

There was an odd sense of solace about the barrel of the pistol, an endless darkness inside that Signe wondered if she was ready to join.

"The Force works in strange ways if it brought all of you to this point, General Signe Amrun." Law got to his feet, the sidearm still trained on the Jedi. "I've seen you use the Force to protect me, my brothers, even an enemy of your kind--a Mandalorian. You and I are both alive today because of it. I think 'ironic' is the adjective I'm looking for."

"I would agree," said Signe levelly.

"The Force is supposed to work for the 'greater good.' At least, that's what I've read. I don't buy it." Law pointed at her lightsaber with his other hand. "You and I both know how many of my brothers will perish before you are terminated. That's why I'm giving you a chance. Prove me wrong, General. Show me how the Force is the _greater good_."

Commander Law motioned for Signe to stand, which she did. He stepped aside so she could exit the tent. Signe walked passed him without breaking eye contact, watching a flicker behind his pupils like a lightning bug of remorse.

She ducked under the tent flap and found clones of the 23rd Legion, rifles at their sides, waiting around the campground outside. None of them shifted. Had they been ordered to let her go? She felt their eyes on her behind the black visors, some patient, others uncertain, a few itching to put a vibroblade in her for dark reasons unrelated to the Order or her own performance. The Force was cold steel, a clockwork machine of obedience.

Signe broke into run and entered the forest. If not at the hands of a clone, would the forest instead take her?

**Intersector Highway, Entertainment District, Coruscant**

Former GAR Commander and Jedi Knight Avan Kaden rode silently with former GAR Advanced Recon Commando Harsh, neither of them feeling very civilian or very safe in the Republic capital. Kaden forced his eyes to stay focused out of the front of the speeder and on the traffic around them. Every so often blaster fire could be heard from skywalks below, presumably clone hunters finding Kaden's old comrades. The wound in the Force was unlike a pain Kaden had ever felt.

"Sir?"

"Harsh."

"_Kaden_."

Kaden managed a smile. "What?"

"Your com is buzzing. Can't you hear it?"

"Crap," Kaden muttered as he reached back and groped for his com that had been shoved in his pack. He found it and managed to answer in time. "Kaden here."

"Avan!" said the hologram. The man on the other end was the spitting image of Avan, wearing tattered robes shorter than the usual Jedi issue, and he kept his hair cut short.

"Arkady," Avan replied. "I'm okay."

"I know that," Arkady said. "Where are you? Are you with someone?"

"Harsh saved me. It's okay, Ark. How have you been?"

"Farming as usual, brother!" Ark insisted. "_You're_ the one who's fighting a war! And what is this I've been hearing about the termination of the Jedi?"

"It's Order 66," Harsh said. "The order given if the Jedi commanders are found to be acting against the Republic. If I were you, I would be looking for a place to hide."

"I don't think clones will come to AgriCorps to stamp us out," Ark grumbled. "We're not even real Jedi. Right, Avan?"

"Shut up, Ark. Find some place safe, would you?"

"What's safer than a nerf pasture in the middle of nowhere?"

"Ark. I'm serious."

"I'll check in later, Avan." Ark terminated the transmission.

"Didn't know you had a brother."

"You're not the only one with look alike brothers," Avan said with a smile.

Harsh slowed the speeder to a stop behind a long line of traffic. He sighed. "We're coming up to a checkpoint. What do you suggest we do?"

Kaden looked down in his lap and asked in a small voice, "Do I still have to give orders?"

_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Coruscant Airspace, Core**

Amiel was crawling through the ventilation shaft with as much care as she could manage. She was finding it hard to keep her head from bumping against the sides with Slon's giant helmet on, and her leather boots were scraping against the metal insides rather noisily. But she had made it this far. Hangar 14 was her destination.

"General Ves'len's transport ship is there. The only non-Republic vessel on the _Nonmalef_," Gev had explained. "We'll get you on it, cheat some codes, and then it's up to you to fly somewhere safe. I'd suggest a neutral planet, or even a Sep planet not in combat. What do you say, _viin'ika_?"

"Thank you, Gev."

"Sounds like you're gonna cry."

"I might. I'm scared."

"Be brave. You've come a long way from when General Vannevar was your Master. Don't stop growing up now."

"Will I ever see you again, Gev?"

"Don't ask naïve questions. You're going backward now."

"Cordial as always, aren't you?" Amiel grumbled. She checked the tiny map in the upper left corner of her heads-up display. She was right above Hangar 14. "I made it," she said.

"Time to improvise," said Gev.

**Republic Perimeter, Jedi Temple, Coruscant**

"Move along, people! Nothing to see here!" Sprocket said to a group of Coruscantii bystanders getting a little too close to the scene. They backed away as Splinter came up beside him, holding Gev's old DC-17 rifle.

There was a crackle on Sigma's com channel, and voices from another squad came on. "Three runners! Jedi! Heading east from these coordinates!"

"_Shab_, boys, that's toward us!" Morj shouted.

Jatne whirled and zoomed in on the wreckage of the Temple wall. He saw movement, three dark figures sprinting across the debris, faster than any human.

Morj attached the RPG launcher to his DC-17 and took aim, firing shots to halt their progress. Splinter and Sprocket ran to try and cut them off, and Jatne took aim with his sniper.

One was well passed his prime. Two were children. Amiel's age. Jatne hesitated.

Boulders of permacrete lifted and were launched at Splinter and Sprocket, and several smaller pieces came hurling toward Morj and Jatne. The two commandos dropped and Jatne heard blasterfire ahead of them from his brothers' positions.

"Master's coming toward us," Splinter said.

"Don't use your blasters!" Morj snapped. "Ever seen a Jedi fight, you idiots?"

"He doesn't have a lightsaber!" shouted Sprocket.

Jatne crawled around the gifts of cover that had been thrown at them and got a look at the scene.

"Padawans are loose. Go after them, Sarge?" Splinter asked.

"No, get the Master. I'll be damned if we kill a couple of kids in the name of the _shab'la_ Republic."

"Yessir."

Sprocket and Splinter were yanked out of gravity's grasp and thrown like dolls. Jatne and Morj let out a yell and ran at the Jedi Master, crossing three meters in seconds only to reach an invisible wall that not only stopped them, but sent them reeling backwards. Before Jatne hit the ground, something closed around his neck. He couldn't breathe. He started writhing as his armor skidded along the jagged ground, trying to stand, but it was as if a boulder had been placed on top of him.

_Not again!_

Splinter slammed his shoulder into the Jedi Master, and Sprocket got on top of him and landed a hard punch with his gauntlet on the Jedi's nose. Jatne was released and he staggered to his feet. Sprocket was thrown into Splinter and they toppled to the ground, and the Jedi stood up, his face bloody.

"Run, _vode_! I attached a grenade to his belt!" Sprocket yelled.

Jatne turned and, grabbing onto Morj's arm, ran in the other direction. Did the Jedi notice? Were Sprocket and Splinter running too?

This wasn't how he wanted to die, trying to kill a man protecting the only children he ever had.


	3. Chapter 3

_For our veterans. Happy Memorial Day._

_**III**_

**Republic Perimeter, Jedi Temple, Coruscant**

Jatne didn't know how long it would take the grenade attached to the Jedi to explode. He didn't know where Sprocket and Splinter were. All he could do was hold on to Morj's elbow and stumble away with their lives intact.

The detonation was the worst sound Jatne had ever heard. It was a dense, wet noise that hit him in the gut, and it was over in an instant. Jatne looked at Morj, who looked back at him, and Jatne couldn't will himself to turn around. Morj did. "_Shab_," was all he said.

"He's all over the place!" Sprocket complained.

Jatne felt his stomach turn.

"The Padawans were Sennia Inada and Batholdemus Flyn. Pursue them, Sarge?" Splinter asked.

"No. Jatne, get the civvy audience out of here." A pause. "Jatne?"

Jatne had his helmet off and he was losing what little lunch he had eaten.

Morj rubbed the back of Jatne's neck until he got control of his insides. He handed his brother his canteen to rinse out his mouth.

"Sorry," Jatne muttered.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Bucket on, then." Morj bent down and picked up his helmet for him. Jatne took it and put it back over his head.

"--think about it, the force of the explosion probably propelled the flesh hundreds of feet away," Sprocket was saying.

"Uh-huh," said Splinter.

"It's a real mess. I'm regretting it."

"Well, we're alive and he's not."

"I guess so. Oh, welcome back, Jatne. I suppose you don't want to help us with the clean up?"

"No thanks."

"Go get the bystanders out of here, _Jat'ika_," said Morj, patting him hard on the shoulder.

Jatne walked numbly toward a group of petrified civilians. They were drastically losing interest in the excitement of the battle and wondering if they were also going to lose their lunches.

"Move along, people," Jatne told them, holding up his hands as if threatening to push them.

"You blew up a Jedi!" a young man exclaimed. He was half-accusing, half-astounded.

"Shouldn't you be in school?"

"School's closed today."

"Sure. Get out of here."

"Why are you killing Jedi?" a middle-aged woman asked.

"Just following orders. We also have a tendency to kill whoever is trying to kill us."

The woman's face wrinkled and as she tried to put it all together. "Who attacked the Jedi Temple? Wasn't it a clone army?"

"I don't know, ma'am, that's classified. Just move along before things get worse."

The crowd started to thin. With the exception of the escape and subsequent explosion, the Jedi Temple was calming down.

Sprocket was still speculating with Splinter and Morj over the com. "So I would imagine that the man had a death wish. I punched him _once_, and it's not like he didn't have unlimited power--" Jatne lowered the volume until the squad's voices were distant whispers.

Jatne lingered away from the squad, walking aimlessly around the abandoned Jedi gardens where sculptures had been erected for legendary heroes. The gardens were littered with bits of stone debris, charred plants, and corpses. Pieces of clones and roasted Jedi. Jatne had been to battlefields, but never one where the Republic had fought _itself_. He paused for a moment by a statue on the sidewalk. He looked up at the robed figure, then down at the plaque. _Bastila Shan_. He didn't know who she was, but she was cracking around the left shoulder, and part of the foundation had been chipped away. Jatne shut his eyes and tried to erase the images of the dead Jedi Master, but he couldn't. He recalled the Padawans instead--one of them he _knew_. Sennia, Gev's purple Twi'lek. What if it had been her attacking? What if it was General Tur-Maken, Amiel, or General Amrun?

Jatne missed killing droids. Simple, mindless droids. Sitting down, Jatne took off his helmet and set it in his lap. He reached inside and turned off his com.

_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Coruscant Airspace, Core**

Commander Naro strode onto the bridge with Slon lingering behind him. He put his hands on his hips and waited for his favorite phrase uttered on a cruiser.

"Commander on deck!"

The lower-ranking clones saluted him, then went back to their consoles. They probably did it several times a day and thought little of it, but Naro soaked up the little instant of attention.

Commander Naro found the mongrel ensign that the commando, Gev, had told him to approach. "Ensign Reno, may I borrow your console? Thanks." Naro wriggled in between the ensign and the clone next to his console and brought up a connection with the Hangar 14 overhead com. "Hangar 14, this is Commander Naro on the bridge. Hi. We're receiving distress signals from Hangar 46, and we cannot reach any other personnel in the area. Hangar 14 is the highest-rated hangar on the entire ship in every class. Strong work, fellows. Since you are obviously the best, all Hangar 14 personnel are ordered to report to Hangar 46. I repeat, _all Hangar 14 personnel_ are to report to Hangar 46. Again, this is _Commander_ Naro, and that was an order."

"Who trained you in communications?" Slon asked crossly as Naro got off of the console.

"A drunk woman wearing only an apron," Naro replied, his helmet giving him a false straight face. He looked over at Reno and clapped him on the back. "Thanks again, mate!"

The ensign had a look on his face as if he had discovered two-month old leftover seafood. Commander Naro turned to Slon and directed his brother off of the bridge by the elbow.

"All right," Naro said in his com, "I gave the order to clear Hangar 14. Gev, are you coming back to your post?"

"On my way. _Viin'ika_?"

"Still waiting in a vent."

"Good!" said Naro. "Is now a bad time to say that I'm really going to miss you, Midget?"

**Republic Perimeter, Jedi Temple, Coruscant**

"No response, Sarge," Sprocket said, voice dismal.

"Where the _osik_ did Jatne go?" Morj asked, aggression evident. His brother had disappeared and he wasn't on the com and his tracking dot hadn't moved in a long time. That was it--he must have died. Killed by those Padawans.

"I'm going after him," Morj said after he started walking. Sprocket and Splinter looked at each other. No orders to stay or follow.

"I'm going too," said Sprocket. Splinter looked around at the abandoned area, thought about what he would do if he faced an escaping Jedi alone, and started after Sprocket and Morj.

Morj descended a small staircase and ran at a jog to Jatne's coordinates. He rounded the foundation of a large statue, expecting to find a corpse, but instead found a pile of plastoid armor plates, a pack, and Jatne's DC-17. His heart started pounding. He looked around. Splinter and Sprocket appeared on either side of him to make the same discovery.

"Jatne's running around naked somewhere!" Sprocket exclaimed. "Think he's finally snapped?"

"What do you mean, 'snapped?' Jatne never seemed liable to snap," Splinter said. "And besides, he has his undersuit on."

Morj's heart was racing. It seemed as if the city was growing endlessly bigger around him. He felt alone, his whole squad was gone.

"All right," Sprocket said, turning on his helmet's spotlight. "Time for a man hunt."

"No," said Morj.

Splinter let out a huff. "What do you mean, Sarge? Jatne has gone AWOL."

"He's dead," Morj said.

"There's no body here. AWOL, Sarge," Splinter insisted.

"Dead. Look, his body is right there." Morj pointed to one of the clone corpses. "Choked to death by a Jedi Master. I'm sending it in now."

"But Sarge--" Splinter stopped as Sprocket clamped onto his shoulder.

_RC-1788 KIA._

_Message sent._

"He could've at least said goodbye," Morj said under his breath.

_**Nonmaleficence**_**, Coruscant Airspace, Core**

"Naro," Amiel said helplessly. "I'm going to miss you too. And Gev--" Amiel broke off and clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms.

"I get it. You'll miss Gev more than me. I'm not hurt," Naro said with a soft chuckle. He stopped trying. "Good luck. Please make it."

Gev pretended to cough. "Yeah, let us know when you're taking off."

"I will. Thank you all." She kicked out the wire grate and slipped out of the vent into Hangar 14. She felt another presence besides her own, a clone that didn't move at Commander Naro's orders.

The clone was an engineer in a gray and red jumpsuit. He had no weapon. He stared at the young woman with her giant ARC Trooper helmet and couldn't quite gauge his expression to "surprise" or "laughter."

"Can I help you?" he asked.

Amiel was frozen like a nerf in headlights. She didn't know whether to Force push him or ignore him and board Clayne's ship. Her mind raced to several different conclusions while her hands reached up, took off Slon's helmet, and threw it with a little Force guidance at the clone engineer's head.

She ran before she could ascertain her accuracy (though the sound she heard indicated that her aim was good), and she boarded Clayne's private transport and ran to the cockpit. On the viewscreen, she could see more clones entering the hangar. She sat in the chair and stared at the controls. She had no idea how to work it.

**Garqi Forest**, **Outer Rim**

Signe wasn't certain that she was approaching another life form until it hit her in the face. Literally--with a fist. She reeled backwards, unwilling to fight back with a clone. Before she could tell that it wasn't a clone, the same hand reached out and grabbed her by the front of her tunic. It was Rem Meshkad.

"Sorry, Signe, but it's for your own good. Amyr," he said over his shoulder.

Signe felt the side of her cheek swelling up. Amyr came up beside her and took the cloak off of her shoulders, casting it aside. She took out the barrette in Signe's hair and rubbed dirt into her scalp. Rem took Signe's chin between his fingers and tilted her head to examine his handiwork. "_Shab_, I really clipped you."

"Uh-huh." Signe sniffed, her left eye watering.

Tracyn came up on her other side and unclipped Signe's belt. The three Mandalorians stepped back from Signe and examined her. "Still Jedi," Amyr concluded.

"Are you helping me?" Signe asked in a small voice.

Rem laughed. "It doesn't seem like it, does it?" He let go of her and patted her on the head.

"In a few hours your face will swell up. No one should be able to recognize you for a few days," Amyr said. "You might want to do something with your hair to throw them off until they stop hunting you."

Nodding, Signe looked down at Tracyn, who was still holding her belt. "Tracyn, would you like to keep my lightsaber?"

Tracyn straightened. "_Really_?"

"Please. Take it."

"You sure?"

"Of course," Signe said, trying to smile. The young Mandalorian girl was glowing with appreciation. "Be careful with it," she added.

Signe looked down at herself and sighed, removing her outer tunic and setting it aside so that she was only wearing her leggings, boots, and undershirt. She was looking less Jedi now, but if someone was _really_ adamant about finding her, the boots would be suspicious. After a short debate with herself, Signe decided to take them off.

"We'll get rid of these for you," Rem said, picking up her boots.

Amyr stepped forward and laid her hand on the side of Signe's face that wasn't swelling. "Good luck, General."

"I don't know how to thank all of you," Signe said. "Nobody was forcing you to be nice to me."

"It must seem strange since we're natural enemies, Mandalorians and Jedi--the main difference between us being Mandalorians go on a case-by-case basis, while you Jedi kill first and ask questions later." Rem Meshkad was grinning under his helmet, and Signe could only stare at him and feel slightly less like dirt. "Yes, that was a compliment," he clarified.

Tracyn gave Signe a little pinch on the arm. "Just go!" Tracyn gave Signe a quick hug around the waist, then let go so her father could shake Signe's hand elbow-to-elbow, the _Mando_ way.

"Now get out of here," Amyr said. "You're free."

**Clayne Ves'len's Nondescript Transport Vessel, **_**Nonmaleficence**_

"Oh, shit," Amiel repeated under her breath. She started pushing buttons at random, panicked as other _armed _clones began filing back into the hangar. A blip of static sounded over the cockpit's com.

"_Shab'la_ idiots, these new recruits," came Gev's voice. "Sorry--" Amiel's finger landed on a switch that stopped Gev's voice. She gasped. She pushed it again, but nothing happened.

"Are you still there? Shit!" she said again. She heard a creaking sound as the door to the vessel began to close, then she pushed the button next to the one that had silenced Gev. Operatic music began to play. "Gev, this is the one time I wanted to hear you talk," she whined.

A small video screen popped up on the control panel. Gev was gesturing wildly at her, still muted. She looked from him to where he seemed to be pointing. There was a large touch screen with a red button. She squinted. It was in another language, but she saw there was an option to switch to Basic. She pressed it. Then her heart skipped a beat and the operatic music reached the peak of a crescendo--the ignition!

Amiel pushed the button and felt the drives fire up. Gev gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed something that she couldn't understand. She sat in the pilot seat and grabbed onto the controls, relieved that she was able to maneuver the ship out of the hangar. The touch screen brought up a menu to plot a hyperspace course, and she set it. She looked down at Gev's small face, smiled, and waved to him. He didn't react--maybe he didn't have her end of the image up on his screen.

Immediately after, the hyperdrive kicked in, and Gev terminated his transmission. Amiel sat rigidly in the pilot's chair as if the ship was going to fall apart at any moment, and the music continued to play a melancholy male tenor. After two minutes and forty-three seconds, she stood and left the cockpit. She found a small living quarter with a lounge chair, a bed, and a bathroom. A pair of Clayne's boots was discarded by the chair, caked in dust and mud from a planet Amiel had never been to.

Amiel collapsed face-first onto the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in the scent left on the sheets. It smelled vaguely of detergent and perspiration. Her heart rate slowed and she tried to relax, but her mind kept going. These men with the same faces but different hearts, the instruments of a cruel war were all she lived for. She dreamed to free them from harm.

Though she endured fate and escaped its betrayal, Amiel still felt powerless against the galaxy. And alone.

Sitting up, Amiel wiped her cheeks with her hand. She settled her mind in the Force to make the thoughts go away, and she found two threads: those of Signe Amrun and Clayne Ves'len. She clung to them and wanted to protect them with every beat of her heart.


	4. Chapter 4

_**IV**_

**Republic Transport in line for Speeder Checkpoint, Coruscant**

Avan Kaden was a study of a contortionist, holed up in a wall compartment of the transport ship and trying to cover himself with a lead blanket that Captain Harsh had handed him. There were loud beeps coming from sensors of the checkpoint guards as they covered the ships in front of them. Kaden couldn't keep his heart from racing.

Captain Harsh tossed Kaden's lightsaber hilt between his hands as he waited for the Jedi Commander to get settled so he could close up the hole in the wall. Kaden made a face at him. "Would you quit playing with that?"

"It's mine now. Remember when I killed you?"

"Yeah! My nose is still crooked from it!"

"No, it's not."

"Would you just put that wall up and get to the cockpit?"

Harsh hooked the lightsaber to his belt and went to grab the wall panel. As he was about to slide it into place, Kaden made a muffled yelp and scrambled out of the hole. "What are you doing?" Harsh yelled.

"We need to get to the ground." Kaden's eyes were wide and white, looking about the small cargo space wildly.

Harsh rubbed his nose with a sigh of exasperation. "_Osik_, not the Crazy Jedi look. What is it this time?"

"Go!"

Harsh threw up his arms and started making his way to the cockpit. Evidently he was not moving fast enough for Kaden, who started pushing Harsh hard in the back and smacking his armor plates to get him to jog.

Harsh plopped down in the pilot seat, swearing under his breath. He hailed the checkpoint. "A-31 here. Getting called back by my commander. Permission to pull out of the line?"

"Granted," a tired voice replied.

Harsh shrugged, terminating the transmission. "Didn't think that would work so well. Should've been our Plan A."

Kaden shushed Harsh and slapped him on the arm until he got out of the pilot seat so he could take the controls.

"_Shab_, you got mynoks in your pants, or what? I thought we were done with this crap ever since you were all--" and Harsh went on in a sardonic and high-pitched voice, "'I don't want to be a commander anymore, Harsh! I hate bossing people around!'"

Kaden ignored the ranting ARC Trooper and navigated the ship around a large building, descending so hard that they both felt it in their guts, the concentration evident in his creased forehead. He made a wide arc and landed on a permacrete lot on the ground, then he looked at Harsh. "We gotta pick someone up. Again."

"Again?"

Kaden got up and beckoned for Harsh to follow him. Harsh, more curious than he was annoyed at the cryptic Jedi, followed. The entrance ramp lowered and Kaden stepped out of it, still holding the lead blanket around his shoulders. He no longer looked like much of a Jedi, donning an old jumpsuit in a footlocker on the ship, and his face scruffy with stubble.

There was a stunned man staring at the ship without the recognition that the ship's inhabitants had for him. "RC-1788," Kaden said to the clone with a smile. "Jatne, right?"

The clone nodded, numb. Harsh tilted his head, seeing as the clone was wearing only his jumpsuit. "What're you doing, son?"

A muscle twitched under Jatne's left eye. He shook his head. Kaden went to him and put his arm around the clone's shoulders. "It's okay," he said softly, but this nice guy routine was lost on Harsh, who had just been man handled by the Jedi seconds before.

"Come on. Back on the ship," Harsh said gruffly.

Kaden helped the clone onto the ship and Harsh keyed in the commando's numbers to check his status. The search resulted with a status of _KIA_. "Interesting," Harsh muttered. Kaden sat down in the pilot's seat with Jatne in the co-pilot's seat, and Harsh almost commented about how he had just been replaced, but Kaden spoke up instead.

"Let's go to Mandalore."

"You'd die on Mandalore," Harsh said. He flexed his hand, wanting to insist that they should take Jatne back to the Arca Barracks. But someone had covered for him. He was a free man.

"I would so not die! I can socialize with Mandalorians just fine!"

The clone's head moved back and forth between their conversation.

"_Di'kut_! I'm talking about the bounty that would be on your head if they found out you were a Jedi. You would have a blaster bolt in your back so fast--"

"We don't have to go to Mandalore," said Jatne. Kaden smiled at him.

"That's where you want to go. I can tell. You two and your 'Mando-aide.'"

"_Mando'ade_," corrected Harsh.

Kaden smiled absently at the Captain, then he fired up the ship's engines and let Harsh finish their flight from the galaxy's capitol.

"Hey, Kaden," Harsh said, looking at the Jedi who was standing behind them. "You weren't kidding when you said you could grow a beard in less than a day."

"I know, right?" Kaden exclaimed excitedly. He stroked his chin, which was becoming rapidly covered. "Ark--he's my twin, Jatne--and I used to have long distance beard-offs."

"Oh, yeah?" Jatne asked with a smirk.

"Yeah." Kaden's nose twitched. "I cheated sometimes and started growing my beard early. I changed the dates on my progress images when I sent them."

Jatne chuckled and Harsh managed a half-smirk that looked like he was watching someone fall down a flight of stairs.

"I'm going to go detox a bit. Mind's a little fuzzy. Place nice, boys," Kaden said, leaving the cockpit with a flourish.

Harsh let the silence hang between himself and Jatne until he had plotted a hyperspace course to Mandalore. It took some calculating to create a course that would be hard for anyone with an overt interest in them to follow. He placed a couple of pit stops in two other systems as well. Once he finished, he turned in his seat toward Jatne.

"Your brothers think you're dead."

The clone hardened his expression, but the slump in his shoulders made Harsh think it bothered him. He didn't say anything.

Harsh was about to get up when Jatne reached over and grabbed him by the wrist. "Captain."

"Yes?"

"Can I at least tell them good-bye?"

---

"Jatne is in bad shape," Kaden remarked to Harsh, who was fishing through the conservator for a freeze-dried meal. The ship was on course without any problems, and Kaden had made Jatne a comfortable place to sleep in the cargo hold.

"He defected."

Kaden folded his arms over his stomach and glared at Harsh. "You're insensitive. He wouldn't have done it if there wasn't something wrong with him."

"If your brother was on Coruscant, would you up and leave him?"

Kaden continued to glare.

"Of course he's in bad shape. You would have to be crazy to go through with that kind of betrayal."

"You don't know what's in his head."

Harsh turned toward the Jedi, his normally stoic expression riddled with the tightening of his facial muscles. Kaden swallowed and continued to stare him down, despite being half a head shorter and not nearly as heavy as the soldier.

"Everyone's got their own baggage. It's impolite to compare weight," Kaden said. Harsh slammed the conservator closed.

"I am dropping you and the traitor off on Mandalore. And then I am leaving."

"Fine!" Kaden said. "If Jatne is anything like your whiny ass, then _maybe_ I can stand looking after him."

Harsh half-shut one of his eyes, the muscle in his lower lid twitching.

"Yeah, I said it," Kaden grumbled. "I said you were _whiny_."

Harsh walked up to Kaden and shoved his index and middle finger toward his throat, which Kaden barely managed to avoid with a Force-grip to Harsh's wrist. Harsh scowled and yanked his arm out of Kaden's hand, then he stalked toward the door leading out of the kitchen.

"You're gonna regret not having me around!" Kaden said. "Nobody brews caf like I do!"

Harsh made an obscene hand gesture at Kaden as he left.

**Arca Barracks, Coruscant**

Sprocket stepped out of the 'fresher, patting his hair with a towel. "I think I'm going to grow a beard," he announced to the room. Splinter was gone at the mess hall, leaving only Morj, curled up on his bed. That was when Sprocket realized the squad leader was weeping so hard that his shoulders were shaking.

"Morj?" Sprocket dropped the towel and sat down next to him, clamping a hand to his shoulder. "_Udesii_. C'mon."

"I can't believe Jatne. That _hut'uun_!" Morj hissed. He dropped his datapad beside Sprocket on the bed and pointed at it.

"Morj, don't say it like that. Whatever 'it' is." Sprocket picked up the datapad and looked, surprised to see a message signed from Jatne. It was addressed specifically to Morj, so Sprocket only let his eyes peruse the words. His stomach sank.

Morj kept crying and Sprocket rubbed his back. Splinter came in with a sandwich and froze in the doorway. Sprocket mouthed swear words at him and waved for him to go away. Finally, Morj calmed down and rolled onto his back. Sprocket bent down to the floor, got his discarded towel, and handed it to Morj. "Feeling better?"

Morj nodded and rubbed his face with the towel.

"I'm gonna miss Jatne, too. I never thought he'd be the first one to get out of this. I had my money on you. Y'know, you were going to go and hit us all with bricks and run off in your skivvies."

"Me? Really?"

Sprocket chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.

Morj shut his eyes. Sprocket tilted his head to see if it was a glare from the lights or a gray hair that he saw on the side of Morj's head. His brother looked at him and said, "I want a reassignment."

Sprocket's stomach sank. He leaned forward. "Please don't leave me with Splinter," he whispered. "He's no fun and he doesn't laugh at my jokes."

"I don't laugh at your jokes."

"You still think they're funny!"

Morj rolled his eyes. "I don't know who's in charge any more or what we'll be doing, but I'm done fighting. I want a desk job."

"Me too." Sprocket looked pensive, and a thought hit him. "Hey, whatever happened to Lyda?"

Morj turned a shade of green. "I don't know. I don't want to know."

Sprocket went to touch Morj on the shoulder again, but the clone sat up and pushed Sprocket out of the way. Morj went to the door and said without turning around, "And don't mention her again."

Jaw hanging open, Sprocket dumped all thoughts about Lyda and stood up. "The desk job. Let's go talk to someone."

"What about Splinter?"

"I don't know. He's got a sandwich to deal with."

_**43 Days After Order 66**_

**Ranvy's Droid Shop, Middle City, Taris**

Signe Amrun went to the control panel near the door and locked up the shop for the night. With a long yawn, she brushed her bangs out of her eyes and took solace in the closed shop. She was a brunette now, and she cut her hair short and started wearing loose and layered clothing. She found that she was more paranoid about her identity than she was about how she looked, even though it bothered her that she looked like a man or a woman who wasn't interested in a man.

Behind her propped up against the wall was a deactivated service droid that had just been brought in by a Bothan. Signe went and knelt down in front of it, taking a tool out of her pocket to open up its chest casing.

"No, silly," said a voice behind her. "You go home now. Wait for next week, fix the droid. _O-ke_?"

Pursing her lips, Signe looked over her shoulder at the Duros who was wiping the oil from his hands onto his coveralls. "Ranvy, it just needs a couple of circuit replacements and a new vocator. I could have it ready for Juma tomorrow."

"I'm boss. Tomorrow weekend. I say you go home."

Signe looked back at the droid, paused, then picked it up and turned back to him with a smile. "Then I'll fix it at home, _boss_."

Ranvy laughed and prodded her in the shoulder. "You do that, _pateesa_."

"Thanks, Ranvy," said Signe. Her smile got a little more serious every time she uttered a word of gratitude to the Duros. He had saved her life on Garqi, taking her in to the refugee camp. Offering her a job on Taris. Well, he had told her he was a businessman and for some reason Signe thought that meant "corporate executive," so she was a little surprised to be offered a job at a hole-in-the-wall droid repair shop.

_"Work for droid shop. You sell, everyone like pretty shop girl and come often. You teach me Basic good. Yea?"_ Ranvy had said. Signe was just relieved to have a job where hundreds of men weren't depending on her to keep them safe.

With the droid strapped into a carrying backpack, Signe put on her over-sized visors and square-billed hat and took the skybus to her apartment complex. After unlocking the door and entering her apartment, she set the droid gingerly in a chair at the table and went to the conservator. She ate sitting across from the deactivated droid, letting silence prevail in her cold flat.

Signe couldn't help but smile to herself. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could feel that her Padawan was at peace. Her friends--they were not slain, either. And the clones she had grown close to didn't have to fight any more.

**Arca Barracks, Coruscant**

_Incoming message from SPROCKET_

_SUB: Hey fart_

_Ok so i'm sitting outside the hq conference room right now. This totally hot caf girl just walked by and gave me the eye. I LOVE NOT WEARING ARMOR!!! K talk to you later. -sprock_

Morj stared at his datapad and thought about responding, then he remembered that his reassignment contained actual, _legitimate _work that was not sitting in front of a console all day. Not that Sprocket hadn't been put _in charge_ of one of the Imperial reprogramming units, but nevertheless, Morj was also put in charge of something.

Morj walked along a path leading into a field of artificial turf and bright, stadium lights. He passed through a gate, walked through a door and up a hallway, then out the other side. He drew in a deep breath of the Coruscant night air and found himself grinning at a gaggle of mongrels wearing white shirts and gray shorts that barely reached their knees.

"All right," he said to them. "I'm liquored up. Who's ready?"

The Imperial recruits organized themselves into a line in a frantic motion. Ever since he had back-handed a kid fresh out of secondary school, called him a name that was so long and horrible that no one could remember it to repeat, and forced him to climb a pole with his hands tied together, nobody messed around with Sergeant Morj.

"The game's _limmie_. And it's not about scoring. It's about _pain tolerance_."

One of the female recruits was staring down her nose at him. She was tall, blonde, and had a boyish face. She looked like Signe Amrun, but she was twenty pounds heavier in muscle. Morj already liked her. Walking over to her, he held out the limmie ball. "Polis, start forming a team." He looked to the kid standing next to her, the same one he had disciplined the first day of training. The welt had finally disappeared from his cheek. "Tama, you pick the other team. I'll be in the bleachers until somebody breaks a bone."

With a satisfied snort, Morj went to go find a good seat in the small stadium. His datapad buzzed when he sat down and he took it out.

_Incoming message from SPROCKET_

_SUB: none_

_PS Splinter scored with the secretary when I was gone last night. In my bed. Not kandosii._

**A Late One Cantina, Ord Mantell**

Amiel Kurr tried not to stare at the eight troopers sitting around a table on the other side of the cantina. They were clones, she could tell. One of them was weird, though. In fact, he wasn't wearing the Imperial Stormtrooper armor. No, there were subtle differences, but that was the Phase I clone trooper armor. She could only tell the difference between the helmets because she remembered when the Phase II helmets were issued. One of the troopers kept his Phase I helmet with its single T-visor, while the other clones donned the eye-like optical openings on the Phase II helmets. She knew one when she saw it.

Amiel peeled her eyes away and looked at one of the plates in front of her. It was half-price appetizers night, so naturally she bought four of them.

Without a war or people to distract her, Amiel wasn't looking like a scrawny primary school girl any more. Her figure filled out and her hair was black and frizzy and cut short around her chin. She wasn't happy about it. In fact, she wasn't happy at all.

Clayne's ship had been impounded because it was stolen from a distant system during the war. It had been transferred to Republic property, then Imperial property, and the proper owner was insistent on making a claim to recover it. So Amiel found herself stranded on Ord Mantell, working part-time at a junkyard that kept her on her feet and the abundant calories she consumed at bay.

"Here you go, Desla," said the Twi'lek waitress as she refilled Amiel's drink.

"Thanks," Amiel told her with a smile. _Desla_. The refugee Gev had had _relations_ with. Amiel stole her name. "Hey, do those troopers come in often?"

"First time I've seen them. You know, I heard some men talking earlier about how the Empire hasn't quite regrouped all of the clone army yet."

"Of course not. Why would they? Worthless clone army."

The Twi'lek smiled. She was very pretty and she was old enough to be Amiel's mother. Her skin was dark purple like Sennia's. Amiel missed her friends so much that it made the muscles in the back of her neck hurt.

"Let me know if you need anything," the waitress said before she left.

Amiel looked toward the troopers again. One of them bothered her. She knew him. But who was he? She didn't know that many troopers. There were too many in her Regiment to get very close to them, though she wished she had paid more attention. Naro and Slon were so much better at commanding them than she was. Naro used to tell her to just wave her lightsaber in the air and yell morale-boosting one-liners while he did "actual work."

She really, _really_ missed them.

Amiel stayed in the cantina as long as the troopers were there, debating whether or not to talk to them. It would be hard not to tell them who she was, despite knowing that revealing such a secret would have her executed. Five of the eight troopers left. The Twi'lek waitress kept refilling Amiel's drink. Her gut feeling about the trooper she knew wouldn't go away, like indigestion. Soon the cantina began emptying out. One more trooper left, there were two remaining--the one she knew and one she didn't.

"Desla? Sorry, hon. We're closing up."

Amiel looked sheepishly at the waitress and nodded. The troopers got up, and Amiel grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She wore heavy makeup that covered up her freckles and skewed the shape of her eyes, making her look a couple of years older. It was sort of a fun disguise, and she liked to think that was the only thing she did to alter her appearance aside from gaining some weight.

Outside of the cantina, the night air was humid and warm. The two moons provided plenty of light to see, unlike the broken streetlights. Amiel looked around for the troopers and saw them a block away at a corner. One trooper said something to the other, and the other left. The trooper she "knew" started walking in her direction.

Amiel focused with her mind on his emotions and her eyes on his hands, waiting for them to go to his holsters. They didn't. Soon he was standing in front of her, two heads taller, faceless helmet aimed down at her.

"Amiel," he whispered. He didn't have a clone's voice.

Amiel's chest flooded with warmth and she threw her arms around his neck. She didn't let go. "They took your ship," she said into the padding of his neck. "You didn't tell me you stole it!"

Clayne Ves'len shushed her and held her against him. His mind was open again, a mixture of relief and utter contentment with being in her presence again. Amiel was so tired she couldn't even shed a tear of joy.

"Thanks for looking after it," he whispered, his voice smiling. "I've been hiding here for a long time now. Zero had a hunch that I should come all the way out here in his armor. Nobody would come after these stationed troops. Unimportant system, you know?"

"Clayne, I'm so glad I found you." Amiel wanted him to take off his helmet so she could see him. But he didn't take it off until they were at her flat, and she kissed him for the second time since the war, and went to bed with him for the first time since he told her he loved her.

**A Dark Place, Deep Rim**

Arkady Kaden slumped against the cold stone wall where he had been half-sleeping for hours, thinking only about food and the pain radiating from his bones. He would not cultivate the fear of his next encounter with the Dark Jedi. He would not harbor unrelenting rage for the one who made him bleed. He would not slip to the Dark Side.

Arkady Kaden squeezed his eyes shut, and the swollen tissue around his ocular muscles ached. He thought of his brother Avan. It was easy to seek out Avan even in a galaxy so vast with distractions, injustices, and hate. Avan was his twin brother, and Avan was happy. Somewhere beneath his heart and his diaphragm, Arkady felt happy for his brother. And he hid it.

Arkady's friends were gone. Some were dead, others were just _gone_. To the Dark Side. No personalities anymore, only hungry for power. Arkady made his head hurt emulating that type of rage to fit in, and sometimes it fooled the Dark Jedi, and sometimes it didn't. Today, it didn't. And Arkady wouldn't eat until it did.

_I'm gonna be the best fake Dark Jedi ever. I'm gonna get off this rock. I'm gonna find Avan. And I'm gonna spare the Jedi I find on the way._

Arkady's tortured bones continued to ache and his stomach rumbled, wanting food. He dug his fingernails into his palms and went into meditation.

_I'm not even a good Jedi. I almost cut off my brother's head with my lightsaber when I was four. Damn it, I'm a _hazard.

Arkady cleared his mind and thought only of one thing, neutral enough to distract him from pain and Dark Jedi: growing a beard.

**Enceri, Mandalore**

Captain Harsh sported a goatee and shaved his head and Jatne let his hair grow passed his ears. It was enough for them to look like brothers instead of clones. Avan Kaden's beard was unkempt, which drove him insane with its parasitic invasion of his face. Harsh insisted that until they could buy proper armor for him, it would have to do.

Avan Kaden strolled with Jatne through the market, often bumping shoulders and elbows with the other Mandalorians crowding around hastily-made kiosks and other booths. "Apparently, it's a special market day," Kaden said.

"I can see that," Jatne said, tilting his head at a weaponsmith specializing in melee blades.

"If only we had the coin to buy some stuff. Does anyone sell clothes here?"

Jatne shrugged. He lingered by the blades while Kaden wandered toward a booth across the aisle with combat attire. Jatne was starting to notice that the Jedi never slept, and sometimes he would catch Kaden staring at walls and looking very sad. Jatne found that being concerned about him helped distract him from his own worries, so he didn't mind paying a little too much attention to the Jedi. Even if he was just a weird Jedi.

Kaden wandered passed the booths and up another alleyway, drawn nearly a block away from Jatne by the sound of a wind instrument.

Jatne felt someone touch his arm. He spun around, swinging a fist foolishly (where does one hit a Mandalorian in full armor?). The Mandalorian caught Jatne's fist and squeezed, twisting his arm into a hold he couldn't get out of. "_Udesii_," the Mandalorian said.

Jatne wanted to relax. It was a clone's voice. But it wasn't a clone he knew.

"_Vod_, how'd you get out here?"

Jatne gritted his teeth and shook his head.

"You can't just amble around alone without protection. Come with me." The Mandalorian clone started walking Jatne along through the dense crowd, his arm still twisted. The two of them almost looked as if they were walking arm-in-arm.

"Where are you taking me?" Jatne rasped.

"Some place safe where a wandering clone isn't going to attract so much attention." The Mandalorian chuckled. "Name's Atin."

"Jatne," he said. He wondered where Kaden was, and if the Jedi could find him. Then he wondered if he wanted to be found. This was a commando, or at least a clone who knew _Mando'a_. What if he could find more? What if he could find _his_ brothers?

A Twi'lek woman was waiting at a speeder. She looked surprised when she saw the two of them approached. "Atin, was that on the shopping list?"

"No, _cyar'ika_. Can we keep him anyway?"

Jatne found himself staring openly at the Twi'lek. She was gorgeous. The Mandalorian let his grip loosen a little. "Listen, _ner vod_, I don't mean to kidnap you, but we have a bit of an..._ operation_ going down. And I'd rather have you close than getting some Imps on our _shebse_. Okay? Get in the speeder, and we'll get you sorted out. _Tayli'bac_?"

Jatne spared one more look over his shoulder. Then he got in the speeder next to the Twi'lek, and the Mandalorian clambered into the back seat. "Laseema," the Twi'lek introduced herself. Her smile was very sweet. Jatne found himself at ease.

"Jatne." He didn't know if it was really appropriate to thank them for kidnapping him.

"We're going to Kyrimorut. I think you'll like it there."

"Hope so," said Jatne. There was never a place Jatne had come to like, and without his brothers, he didn't suspect he would start any time soon.


End file.
